


waning crescent

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Humor, M/M, Married Life, Medicinal Drug Use, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Eddie helps him to his feet, then takes his hand, guiding him when Richie doesn’t want to open his eyes. The floorboards are warm in the summer heat; when Eddie unlocks the front door and steps out onto their porch, Richie can smell the humidity before he even feels the heat.“What time’s it?” Richie asks, voice rough. Eddie sits him down at their wrought-iron table.“Just after two,” Eddie tells him. He pulls a lighter from the pocket on his pajama shorts. When he flicks the flame out, Richie can see his strong chest in the tiny flecks of orange light. Lifting his head lets him see the fire reflected in Eddie’s dark eyes, and he smiles in spite of himself.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 25
Kudos: 184
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	waning crescent

**Author's Note:**

> written in twenty minutes because i had an emotion

Richie lays in the throbbing darkness, his head pounding, and tries to will himself back to sleep.

He’s been awake for at least half an hour, he thinks. He can’t be positive, but he woke up in the darkness and it hasn’t gotten any brighter outside their windows. For all he knows, it’s only been an hour since he fell asleep, but he can’t bring himself to move to check their bedside clock or grab his phone.

The migraine that had been poking at his brain before he went to bed has come through in full force, making the darkened room spin as his eyes adjust to it. He squeezes them shut again, taking a deep breath through his mouth. His stomach turns, and he presses his face into his pillow.

“Richie?” Eddie’s groggy voice asks. Richie’s head snaps up, shocked, and he regrets it instantly when it makes his head feel like it’s twisting behind his eyes. Burying his face in his pillow again, he manages a grunt of acknowledgment.

The mattress shifts as Eddie moves, his weight redistributing as he shuffles closer to Richie. His fingers gently cup the back of his skull, softly by the fingertips at first; after a moment, he smooths his hand down, impossibly slow, like Richie will run if he goes too fast. Richie just keeps his eyes closed and his face pushed into his pillow. He enjoys the feeling of Eddie carding his fingers through his hair, but it only does so much for so long.

A sharp pain lances through his skull from the top of his spine, and he whines involuntarily into his pillow like he’s a little kid and not a fully-grown adult.

“Does it hurt really bad?” Eddie asks softly. His voice is a little clearer, but quieter, now, rumbling down a bar lower, out of deference to Richie’s migraine.

“Yeah,” Richie answers, barely a breath. Eddie kisses his shoulder over the worn material of his t-shirt before shifting to get out of bed. His weight disappears completely; Richie listens vaguely as he creaks across their floorboards.

He hears a drawer slide open, then slight rattling before Eddie finds what he’s looking for. It’s not long before he comes back to Richie and gently coaxes him onto his back.

“Wanna come sit outside with me?” Eddie asks. Richie nods slightly, once, then forces himself to sit up on the edge of the bed. He has to take a second for the room to right itself again, but, thankfully, Eddie keeps the lights off and one hand on Richie’s shoulder, so he grounds himself soon.

Eddie helps him to his feet, then takes his hand, guiding him when Richie doesn’t want to open his eyes. The floorboards are warm in the summer heat; when Eddie unlocks the front door and steps out onto their porch, Richie can smell the humidity before he even feels the heat.

“What time’s it?” Richie asks, voice rough. Eddie sits him down at their wrought-iron table.

“Just after two,” Eddie tells him. He pulls a lighter from the pocket on his pajama shorts. When he flicks the flame out, Richie can see his strong chest in the tiny flecks of orange light. Lifting his head lets him see the fire reflected in Eddie’s dark eyes, and he smiles in spite of himself.

Eddie lights the joint in his hand, takes a long drag from it, then passes it over. Richie takes it, inhales, but he coughs when his chest is too tight to get a full breath in.

“Lemme,” Eddie says quietly, getting to his feet. He nudges Richie’s knees apart; in the sparking embers of light at the end of the joint, Richie can see Eddie’s face clearly again. Then, Eddie’s hand cups Richie’s face, tipping him up with gentle fingers along his jaw. He barely has to coax Richie to open his mouth; Richie does it on instinct, letting his lips part as Eddie blows the smoke directly into his lungs for him.

He doesn’t cough this time, exhaling as slowly as he can to keep his tight chest from catching again. Eddie tips his face up again with two fingers under his jaw and shotguns again for him, letting the hazy taste of smoke and sleep spread from his mouth to Richie’s and down into his chest, filling him up with warmth from the inside out.

The humidity and his headache make his skin prick with sweat. Eddie must feel it, the next time he takes Richie’s face in his hand to guide him into another half-kiss, half-exhale, because he reaches down for the hem of Richie’s shirt before he’s even done. When he pulls back, he draws Richie’s t-shirt off over his head, exposing his bare skin to the summer air.

“Feeling any better?” Eddie asks. Richie nods slightly, letting his head fall into his hand, elbow propped up on the patio table. “One more?”

“Mkay,” Richie allows, lifting his head for Eddie to give him one last heavy breath of smoke. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Eddie’s pajama shorts before he can pull away, keeping him close so Eddie gets the hint when they separate.

Eddie drops his head, nosing along Richie’s hairline to his temple, then down behind his ear. Still hazy with sleep, starting to grow lazy with weed, and blanketed by the warm darkness of nighttime, Eddie kisses the shell of Richie’s ear, then sighs.

“We should get back to sleep,” Eddie tells him quietly. Richie nods, reaching out to thread their fingers together.

It takes a minute, but Eddie does eventually pull himself away from Richie, letting their joined hands pull Richie back along into the house again with him. He shuts the front door so gently that Richie wants to cry. Nobody’s ever given a shit about him like Eddie has.

He tries to verbalize that, but his breath hitches before he even manages to start, and Eddie shushes him.

“Whatever it is,” Eddie says, “I know.”

Richie huffs a laugh, turning his face into Eddie’s hair. Still messy from sleep, his curls brush Richie’s closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, his mouth. He sighs, and Eddie catches him by the waist, kissing his cheek when he tips his head up.

“Back to bed,” Eddie tells him. He guides Richie the rest of the way back to their bedroom, the sharp pains coursing through his head dulling slightly.

Richie finds their bed before Eddie does, so he sits down on the edge of it while Eddie goes into their bathroom. Without even turning on the light, Eddie starts rummaging through their medicine cabinet. Apparently, he doesn’t need to see to know where Richie’s medications are.

“Here you go,” Eddie says, taking Richie’s hand in his so his cupped palm faces upwards. He tips Richie’s pills into his hand for him and curls Richie’s fingers around them. His other hand suddenly meets cool paper, a tiny disposable cup from the bathroom filled with purified tap water.

On instinct, he swallows it all, and Eddie kisses the bend of his cheekbone as a reward. He leaves again, but only for a moment before his weight comes back onto the mattress behind Richie.

Back in the darkness of their bedroom, without his glasses and disoriented from their journey outside, Richie can barely see, but he doesn’t need his eyes to know where Eddie is. He can feel every slight inhale that means he’s moving, every twitch of his limbs, every tiny movement as he shifts his weight. He leans into his pillows, and Eddie’s there to catch him and guide him the rest of the way down.

“How’s that?” Eddie asks. His hands are cool; before Richie can ask why, he’s pressing a cool, damp cloth to Richie’s forehead.

Richie sighs without even meaning to, and Eddie huffs a small laugh.

“Good,” Eddie tells him. He wipes Richie’s forehead, then lets him shuffle until he’s laying down on his stomach like he likes. The cool cloth meets the back of Richie’s neck instead, and his sigh vanishes into his pillow.

“Thank you,” Richie murmurs. His words are muffled, but he says them anyways. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s okay to wake me up when you’re not feeling well,” Eddie reminds him. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Richie wants to crack a joke, but his head pulses and he groans instead. Eddie settles back down into bed beside him, propped against his own pillows. After a beat, his cool fingers push Richie’s hair back from his face.

“Close your eyes,” Eddie says, when Richie tries to squint up at him. “Get some more sleep. If you wake up again, wake me up. Okay?”

“‘Kay,” Richie answers. He lifts his head, just slightly, but it’s enough that Eddie knows what he wants; he drops his head down and kisses Richie properly, right on the mouth, soft and sweet and still smoke-hazy and sleep-clogged. Richie smiles into it.

“Love you,” Eddie says.

“Love you more,” Richie mumbles into his pillow. Eddie keeps pushing his hair back until it says away from his eyes and nose.

“Love you most,” Eddie says. “Sleep.”

Richie does as he’s told, pushing his arms up under his pillow and around it, clinging tight to it as he digs his face into his pillowcase. The pressure offers a little more relief from his migraine, so he keeps his head where it is. One of his arms curls up under the pillow, fingers dangling above his own head for a moment before Eddie slips his hand into it.

Neither of them speaks, but Eddie holds his hand gently, thumb stroking in a little circle over and over on the back of it, until Richie settles enough to sleep. Once he’s stopped fidgeting, Eddie shifts down a bit, too, pulling himself closer into Richie’s personal space.

The heat presses down on them more than their sheet, tangled up around their waists. Richie wriggles closer to Eddie to wedge one of his legs between Eddie’s, getting them all tangled from the ankles up. Finally contented enough to sleep, he relaxes. Eddie’s sleepy coziness and foggy affection starts washing over him in sweet waves, liquid rose-gold and warm, and he even smiles a little bit before he falls asleep there with him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) (new @!) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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